The Thirteen Treasures Part 14

The latch lifted and Fabian swung the gate open and slipped through with Oberon, then Tanya stepped half into the garden, pausing to stare back towards the forest.

'Come on!' Fabian pulled her through. 'Hurry!'

'Wait.' Tanya peered round the edge of the gate. The lightning flashed a second time, illuminating the sky. It was enough to see that there was no sign of Warwick anywhere near.

'I can't see him,' she said, closing the gate. 'Let's just get back inside the house.' By now her face was numb, frozen by the relentless rain.

They hurried through the garden, skidding dangerously in the mud. Fabian knelt down outside the back door and retrieved the key, hidden beneath an upturned flowerpot. It was only when they entered the kitchen and Oberon trotted over to his basket that Tanya realised that getting upstairs quickly was not going to be possible.

'Oh, no . . . the floor . . . look at the floor!'

Fabian looked down in dismay at the trail of muddy paw prints leading from the door to the dog's bed, then at his own mud-caked shoes and clothes. What little colour was left in his face drained right then.

Tanya thought quickly.

'Take off your shoes and carry them upstairs. Hide them until you get the chance to clean them.' She scanned the kitchen until her eyes rested on a damp cloth at the sink. 'I'll clean up this mess and any drips of water you might leave in the hallway.'

'But what about Warwick?' said Fabian. 'He could be here any second!'

Tanya's stomach churned. 'There's still a chance he didn't see us. If we do this properly we might get away with it. If he did see us it'll make no difference if he catches me he'll know it was us anyway.'

'I just don't get it,' said Fabian. 'How could he have known?'

'He must have heard us talking somehow and decided to wait for us,' said Tanya, removing her sodden trainers. 'But we don't have time for this now go, and I'll see you in the morning.' Spying a roll of kitchen paper, she tore off a handful and threw it at Fabian. 'For your head. Now go.'

Fabian pulled off his muddy boots and crept upstairs. Immediately, Tanya set to work on the floor, frantically wiping up all traces of mud. When the floor was spotless she began to rub at Oberon's dirty paws. The dog lay there and let her do it, eyeing her lazily. Her heart thudded in her chest as the door rattled in the wind. With every gust she thought Warwick was back and the game was up.

When she was convinced there was no evidence that anyone had been outside, she took a towel from the draining board and carefully made her way upstairs, drying any drips that Fabian had left. Luckily, the first-floor landing was carpeted, so there was little else she could do except hope that any damp spots dried out by morning. By the time she got back to her room Tanya was exhausted, but with the kind of nervous energy she knew would not allow her to sleep. She had no idea whether Warwick had seen them or not, although the fact that they had made it back unchallenged gave her hope. And the raven . . . she shuddered. The fairies had sent Raven in her bird form to scare Fabian as well as Tanya. It had been warning them. But about what? Warwick or the woods?

She stuffed the filthy cloth and towel under the bed with her saturated clothes and shoes before pulling on her pyjamas and jumping into bed, winding herself into the covers and desperately trying to warm her freezing hands and feet.

One thought was chanting in her mind.

How could Warwick have known?

She did not remember falling asleep that night, but when sleep came it was far from restful. When the yelling began shortly before six o'clock the next morning, it did not wake her as quickly as usual. After finally opening her eyes it was several seconds before she realised that the noise was not coming from Amos, but from the very same room she was in.

The person shouting was her.

15.

T FIRST, TANYA THOUGHT SHE must have still been dreaming as the room came into focus, for what she saw was the stuff of nightmares.

In the night, her hair had grown a lot. It had grown at least four times as long as Tanya was tall. The room was full of hair. Thick, shiny chestnut waves spilled over the bedclothes, pooled on the carpet and lapped at the walls and door like a dark brown sea. It was everywhere, and there was so much of it that it had even begun to climb the walls and wind itself around the doork.n.o.b, as well as snaking up the chimney in the same way ivy crawled up the walls of the manor. As a thick tendril inched its way slyly towards the window ledge, Tanya realised the worst of it.

Her hair was still growing.

Terror gnawed at her like a rat. She couldn't think. She couldn't move. She was frozen, helpless. This was her punishment for attempting to enter the woods last night.

She barely had time to register the telltale creak of the floorboards outside on the landing before there was a loud rapping on the door.

'What's going on in there?' Her grandmother's voice was harsh and insistent.

Tanya's mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

'N-nothing,' she managed finally. 'I'm fine.'

'I heard shouting. Is everything all right?'

Tanya's eyes widened in horror as the doork.n.o.b began to turn. She heard her grandmother's exasperated tut as the door remained firmly shut and closed her eyes in temporary relief. She did not even remember locking it.

'I had a nightmare,' she croaked. 'But I'm all right now.'

'I don't like locked doors in this house,' said Florence. 'Not when there are people behind them.'

Tanya stared at the door, stricken. There was absolutely no way she could afford to open that door to her grandmother, but if Florence really wanted to come in there would be no stopping her. If Warwick had a skeleton key then her grandmother was sure to have one too.

'I didn't realise I'd locked it,' Tanya said quietly. 'It won't happen again.' Another lie.

'If you've wet the bed or something I won't be cross.' Florence's voice was firm but not unkind. 'We can clean the sheets now and no one else need know. But if you leave it-'

'No, I haven't wet the bed!' Tanya practically shouted. 'I just had a nightmare, that's all!' Panic was bubbling up inside her, threatening to turn into hysteria. She fought the urge to scream.

'Very well.' Her grandmother's tone was back to its usual stand-offish manner. 'Breakfast is at eight. I expect you to be at the table promptly.'

Go away, go away, go away! Tanya shrieked inside her head but all she could do was listen as Florence retreated along the landing to her own room.

With the threat of her grandmother no longer imminent, Tanya jolted into action. She pushed back the bedclothes with difficulty, the movement hampered by the extra weight of the hair cascading over the covers. Stepping out of bed, her feet disappeared into the mounds of hair. Every step she took felt like she was wading through thick brown treacle. The hair was enchanted, of that she held no doubt. Its weight and the way it clung to her limbs was not normal; it was like the hair itself was trying to prevent her from escaping. Carefully, she slid her way towards the adjoining bathroom and rummaged through the cabinet for the nail scissors.

They were not there.

Something gurgled behind her. Tanya turned slowly, with a sickening feeling of understanding, and peered into the plughole in the bathtub. Her gaze met with a pair of huge, gleaming eyes. The rotten-egg stench of drains wafted up as the drain-dweller stretched its hand through the plughole and mimed a scissor movement with its frog-like fingers.

'Snip, snip,' it gargled. 'Oh, snip snip!'

'Give them back!' Tanya whispered angrily. She lunged for the creature's hand but it slid out of her clasp. 'Please,' she begged. 'Just for a minute, give them to me . . . you can have them back afterwards, I promise! You can keep them!'

The creature belched and danced gleefully in the drain, spurting murky water through the plughole. It was clearly enjoying itself.

'Snip, snip! Findings, keepings! Trickings and treatings! Shiny, glittery, snippetty, snappetty . . . oh, snip, snip! Snippetty SNIP!'

Tanya would have gladly snipped the creature's thieving little fingers off, had she been able to get to the scissors, but they were well and truly out of her reach, no doubt with her missing watch deep in the drain creature's lair.

'Hairy, hairy, crossed the fairies, how does your barnet grow?' the fairy cackled. 'With dandruff, lice, it's all very nice, and . . . oh!'

'I don't have lice,' Tanya said furiously, scratching at her suddenly itchy head. 'Or dandruff!' Several white flakes floated past her face. She stopped scratching in alarm. 'You! You just did that, you . . . you-'

She broke off as she realised the creature had ceased its taunting and was now gazing at something in utter adoration. Its beady eyes were trained on the silver charm bracelet her grandmother had given her. It was sparkling even in the murky light of the bathroom. A sudden plan formed in her mind, one in which the bracelet could play a part in protecting her after all.

'You like this?' she said. 'You do, don't you?'

The creature nodded vigorously, its bald head bobbing up and down in the drain. 'Shiny. Twinkles!'

'I'll make a deal with you,' said Tanya. She lowered her voice. 'These charms are magical,' she lied. 'Each of them has a special power.'

The creature's eyes widened in excitement. Scanning the charms, Tanya selected her least favourite, the cauldron, and tugged at it until the link weakened and finally snapped. She held it aloft. 'This cauldron will fill with anything you wish for. You could fill your whole drain with shiny, glittery treasures. You can have it in exchange for the scissors.'

'Yes, yes,' the creature gurgled, reaching its arm through the plughole once more. 'Mine now, mine!'

Tanya shook her head. 'First, the scissors.'

The creature pouted and sulked, but Tanya held her ground, lifting the charm higher to catch the light. The drain-dweller's eyes grew wide and it licked its lips in antic.i.p.ation. Finally it admitted defeat and squelched into the depths of the plughole. A moment later it emerged with the slime-covered scissors and placed them in Tanya's palm, before s.n.a.t.c.hing the charm she offered from her other hand and sliding back into the safety of the drain.

Tanya collapsed on the bathroom floor as the fairy crooned with glee over its new possession. Her sense of relief was to be short-lived. As she lifted the scissors to her hair and began to hack, it became clear that nothing was happening. She tried harder, with fewer strands, but not one single hair could be severed from her head. In frustration she tossed them aside. She already knew it wasn't the scissors, knew that they were sharp enough. It was her hair, or rather, the spell on her hair. It couldn't be broken with scissors alone.

She sat on the cold tiles, her hair rippling around her. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this one. Her only hope was Red. If only she could find a way of getting to her unseen. She felt her eyes well with tears at the thought. She was the one meant to be helping Red, not the other way around. Clearly she had overestimated her capabilities. She screwed her face up in determination. What would Red do?

'Salt,' she murmured. 'The colour red. Running water. Iron. Turning clothes inside out.' She repeated the list of deterrents over and over, hoping that a solution would present itself, but nothing did. The only thing she could think of was to wash her hair under the shower hose . . . but getting all of her hair into the bathroom would prove tricky, if not impossible. Besides, she had a feeling that the running water the old book had been referring to would be something like a stream or a river, not a running tap.

Tanya held her head in her hands, defeated.

'You knew the scissors wouldn't work, didn't you?' she whispered, knowing the creature in the drain was still there, listening. 'You tricked me.'

'Tricketty, tricketty. Tricketty trappetty!'

'I'll give you more charms . . . I'll give you the whole bracelet if you just break the spell!'

'Not my spell, oh no. Not mine to break.'

Somehow, Tanya knew it to be true. The spell was too sophisticated, and the drain-dweller had never bothered her in this way before, even though it had added to the spell by giving her fleas and dandruff. It simply contented itself with stealing away anything shiny.

The drain-dweller emerged from the plughole, brandishing the charm at her. 'Not magical,' it said crossly. 'Tricketty girl!'

Tanya shrugged, careful not to let on that she had been untruthful. Despite the fact that the creature had lied to her, it would be unwise to admit her own deception in case it angered the fairy and incurred further punishment.

'Perhaps the magic doesn't work when the charms are separated,' she said at last. 'Perhaps the charms' power is linked they have to be together to work.'

The drain-dweller scowled. 'Tricketty,' it muttered one last time, before skulking back into the sink with the charm.

Not knowing what else to do Tanya left the bathroom, dragging her hair behind her. She sat down on the bed. Red was her only hope. Somehow, she had to get to her, but deep down she knew she hadn't a chance. It was just a matter of time before her grandmother forced the door open. She did not want to think what would happen beyond that.

Breakfast time drew ever nearer. Tanya's stomach felt as though it was turning itself inside out as she waited for the inevitable call from her grandmother. She did not have to wait long before Florence was hollering up the stairs, and by the fourth time she was sounding very annoyed indeed. Tanya pictured her thin mouth twisting in anger and suddenly felt strangely detached. She would be taken away when they opened the door and saw her, of that she was sure. Taken away . . . and asked questions and experimented on by people in white coats. Just like a changeling.

Footsteps clomped up the stairs. Tanya drew in a slow, deep breath. Someone tapped on the door.

'Tanya? What are you playing at? Florence wants you downstairs now she's really got the hump! And so have I. My breakfast is going cold!'

'Fabian?' Tanya whispered.

'Yes,' came the impatient reply. 'What are you doing in there? Open the door.'

'I can't. I'm not coming down.'

'You have to. Florence knows something's wrong. She says if you don't come down now she's coming up and letting herself in with the skeleton key.' Fabian lowered his voice. 'Is it something to do with last night? Warwick hasn't said anything I think we got away with it.'

'No . . . it's not that.' Tanya got up off the bed and shuffled to the door. 'I can't tell you. You might as well go downstairs.'

'Just tell me. I might be able to help.'

'Trust me, you can't.'

'I'm not going anywhere until you open the door and I see that you're all right.'

'No!'

'Fine.'

There was scrabbling from the other side of the door.

'I hope you're dressed,' Fabian said. 'If you're not, then now's the time to get back in bed!'

'What? Fabian-'

There was a distinctive sound of a key being inserted into the lock, and the key on Tanya's side popped out and fell to the floor.

'Fabian, how could you!' she cried. She hurled herself against the door as the lock clicked. 'How dare you do this? I'll . . . I'll tell Warwick you've been using his skeleton key to look all around the house!'

'It's not Warwick's.' The doork.n.o.b began to turn. 'It's mine. I found it in one of the old servants' rooms.'

Fabian began to push the door from the other side. Tanya pushed back with all her might, but already she knew she was not strong enough to hold him off for long. The hair on the floor was impeding the grip of her bare feet as it was.

'I mean it, Fabian!' Tanya shouted. 'I'll never forgive you if you do this!'

The door began to inch open. She shoved back, panic fuelling her supply of strength.

'It's . . . for your own . . . good,' Fabian panted. 'Once I see . . . you're all right . . . I'll go. Florence . . . is going to . . . come up here . . . anyway!'

'I don't care!' Tanya roared. 'You're not coming in!'

But whether she liked it or not, Fabian was coming in. He had gained another two inches in the last few seconds and Tanya's stance was weakening. Already, it was clear he could see something was very wrong.

'What's that? On the floor . . . What is it? It looks like . . . like . . .'